


Dust My Heart

by floweralien



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, M/M, PINING KEITH, broganes, burning man festival au, dont hate me, its probs gonna only be one chapter, klance is endgame, pining lance, probably not cause i suck, slight angst, slow burn?, there is a shit ton of shallura feels, there will be some fwb style matt and lance because im a fuckin matt stan piece of trash ok, what are tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:53:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweralien/pseuds/floweralien
Summary: Everyone has their baggage. And for some, it's heavier than others. Lance has no idea what he's doing at Burning Man. Something about letting go, moving on. Only problem is, he doesn't quite know how. But then he meets a boy with a horrible mullet and glitter dusted collarbones and he thinks maybe he'll figure it out.





	1. What's a Playa

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! okok i dont know what the HELL im doing but lets get this show on the road HMMM boi it boutta be a ride. also, if youre here: hello. congrats. you clicked on whatever tf this is. im proud of you. pls stick with me im lonely

The easiest part? Buying his ticket. Lance thought that maybe it would be actually driving there. But no, the young man was so very wrong. Buying his singular ticket was quite possibly the easiest thing he had done in his short twenty-one years of life.

So what's the hard part, you may be asking? Buying his clothes. You see, Burning Man isn't just a festival out in the middle of a godforsaken desert. No, no, it's the beginning of the rest of your life, if you were to ask some of the other attenders. Now, Lance had always prided himself with his fashion sense. He kept it cool, yet casual. He managed to make ladies, and the occasional guy, look twice if he tried hard enough.

If he thought he was gonna be able to make it through the trip with his normal clothes though, he thought very, very wrong. Which is why he was currently driving to every Goodwill and thrift store in a fifty mile radius, and having to listen to his dear friend Hunk shouting on the other end of the line.

"What do you mean you didn't know that people dressed funky? This isn't some casual kick back Lance! I'm running a tent called Space Goo, for fucks sake! What were you even planning on wearing? Do I want to know?” Hunk was near hysterics, and by the way his voice wavered Lance could only wonder if he was already crying or just close to it.

“Well if you must know, I did pack one crop-top.” He said hesitantly. An inhuman screech blasted through his speakers. He must have done something horribly wrong for Hunk to be acting this out of character.

“Lance, buddy, my man, if you don’t find at least ten Burning Man worthy outfits by tonight, and another ten by the festival itself next week? I’ll never cook you a meal again.” Came the reply. It caused the young Cuban’s eyes to widen and his grip on the steering wheel tightened to a white-knuckle grasp. Then he swallowed thickly and hung up, smashing his foot into the gas pedal.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, was going to stop him if there was that much on the line.

-@-@-

Three hours, twelve outfits that looked like they’d suit a crack addict, and $84.07 later, Lance crossed the threshold into his and Hunk’s apartment. The smell of rich potato soup filled the air, wafting heavily out of the kitchen. Lance dropped his bags, rolled his stiff shoulders, and groaned. His friend’s head popped out from around the corner, orange headband keeping his slightly damp bangs in place. The young man had a shine of sweat on his neck and cheeks, no doubt from cooking over a hot stove.

“What’d you get?” He called out, eyebrows raised in question. He had calmed down from his earlier freakout by stress baking a month's worth of oatmeal raisin cookies. Lance shot him a look, eyes narrowed angrily, though there was no real venom behind it.

“You’re lucky you’re you and not Pidge, or I would have thrown my shoe at you already.”

“Hey!” Came a female voice from the living room. Warily he looked over, and sure enough there she was; the Devil herself. Curled up on the couch, computer reflecting off her glasses and hiding her eyes, was Katie Holt. Although she preferred to be called Pidge. She had gone to Burning Man two years before with her brother Matt, so naturally he gifted her his nickname for her.

“Gremlin.” Lance snapped.

“Fuckboy.” She replied coldly. They held each other's gazes only a moment before erupting into giggles. After the two calmed down he walked over to ruffle the small girl’s hair. She responded with a half-hearted hiss and Lance smiled tiredly.

His feet brought him to the kitchen where he rested his forehead on Hunk’s shoulder.

“You’re insane. Never make me do something like that again, I beg of you.”

“Listen to me when I explain things, and we’ll be fine.” Hunk chuckled, pressing a quick peck to Lance’s hair ((in a completely bromantic way because i really like platonic kisses and shit ok get used to this its gonna be the norm)) before he turned off the stove, removed his apron, and dished up three bowls of soup. Lance couldn’t help but notice how he put more kale in Pidge’s bowl, and more potatoes in Lance’s.

How he managed to get Hunk as his best friend, Lance would never know. He didn’t deserve the man in his life, and he knew that all too well.

Lance took two of the bowls and slid them onto their dining table, a small and somewhat rickety old thing. Then he went back to grab the third dish and three spoons. Pidge had hopped up to get some napkins, and as the other two people fell into place Lance couldn’t help but feel a sense of strong comfort. This was the family he had made for himself.

And he was proud.

As the trio sat down for dinner the Cuban let the wave of emotions wash through him, soothing aches and sores, trickling into his hands and feet to make his limbs tingle, settling quietly in his heart.

That very heart that had carried him all the way here, to this room, this table, these people.

-@-@-

“So…you told me you have certain names at Burning Man, right? Do we get to pick them? Cause I wanna be Sharpshooter. Or the Tailor. Y’know, cause of how I thread the-”

“You don't pick.” Matt said quietly, fingers working tirelessly on the last few stitches of his shirt. He always made his Playa outfits. Every. Single. One.

“Wait, what? That's so lame.” Lance whined.

“It really isn't. You're gifted your Playa name.”

“By who? And what's a Playa?”

Matt’s honey colored eyes flicked up from his work to across the table where the other young man was sprawled across a chair, long limbs hanging over both sides as he stared up at the popcorn ceiling.

“It doesn't matter who. But it won't be anybody from our camp, you're gonna have to meet some new people if you want one. We've all agreed on not choosing one for you. And Playa is what we call the area. Art structures? On the Playa. Where do we ride our bikes? On the Playa. The event is Burning Man, not the place itself.”

There a long moment of silence as the information was absorbed and processed. Then, “I have no idea what I'm getting myself into.”

“That's the plan. We all want you to fully experience it. Which means-”

“Getting out and meeting people, yes, yes, I know. Though I don't know why. I'm social enough as it is.” Which was true. People knew Lance. But he didn't know them. If he walked into a party he'd be able to make light conversation easily, because he made it a goal of his to have contacts. He liked having a crowd around him, liked being the center of attention.

When he wanted to be. He didn't actually need that many friends.Which is why it was so frustrating that the rest of the team was constantly trying to get him out and about.

\---

“When was the last time you made a real friend?” Hunk stood with his hands on his wide hips, one eyebrow raised.

“It doesn't matter! I have you, and Pidge, and occasionally Matt comes over.”

“You've known me since middle school, and the Holt’s since high school. You don't ever branch out, Lance! You don't ever hang out with new people, or go on dates, not since-”

“Don't.”

\---

He winced at the memory. It was over a year ago, and it had been the first time he'd really ever fought with Hunk. And even then it was just a lot of verbal shots back and forth, but it still stung. Especially when he mentioned her. He didn't need to be reminded of what had happened. Why he had become as closed off as he had.

Matt just continued to look at him. Eventually, Lance met his gaze. He let out a soft sigh, and the older boy offered a small smile.

“I know you don't want anything to happen to the safety bubble you've built for yourself, but-”

“I'm offended that you think I'd be dumb enough to only make a bubble.” Lance interjected. Matt scoffed.

“Right. Sorry, your freaking castleship. But, as I was saying, people aren't all bad. You just have to give them a shot. Lower your particle barrier. Try something new.” His voice was low and gentle, and Lance knew he was trying to help. He let out a dejected sigh and slumped even more in on himself, grumbling.

“As long as you don't make me put away my ion cannons-”

“Do you ever stop talking about that dumb Voltron show?”

“Never.” He let a delicate smirk flicker across his lips. Matt groaned and laid his head against the back of his chair.

“But why? I'll never understand why you and my sister obsess over it so much. I mean, you all even have matching tattoos! And the weird code names-”

“Paladins?”

“That! I love space, and I love science, but the anger that show makes me feel is unheard of. And it doesn't help that you are all ‘tirelessly seeking the Glitter and Fart Paladins’ either!”

“Glitter and Fart? You mean Red and Black? The two most important parts of Voltron? The leader and their right hand man? The head and the sword? The-”

“Lance...please…” The eldest Holt sibling was sagging in his chair, a look of utter defeat spread clear across his face.

Rolling up his sleeve, Lance turned his arm to face Matt, showing off the small blue symbol he’d had inked into his skin years ago. It was ‘V’ like, and he'd gotten his inspiration from the chest plates of the Paladin armor. When he'd brought it up to Hunk, his best friend of almost ten years, the two had gone out the very next day to get the permanent art.

It was on their outer left wrist, and small enough to not distract, but big enough to be able to show off. Lance blamed his older brother for the dumb obsession. The two had watched the show until it was more of a lifestyle than an interest. His brother, Dylan, had always called him Blue. And told him him that he had to find the other four.

So when Lance met Hunk he knew right away what he had to do. Befriend him, and never let him go. So far, he was succeeding.

They had feared, all those years later while sitting in the parlor, that Hunk’s tattoo wouldn't show up well against his dark skin. But it was really quite beautiful. It was duller than it would be on a lighter complexion, but it still was a nice, almost-mustard like hue, and Hunk was proud of the way it looked. The blue Lance had gotten contrasted nicely against his caramel coloring. It stood out, but not in a harsh or jarring way.

Not soon after the two young Paladins met did they stumble across a tiny and scrawny young Katie. Instantly, they knew; they had found their Green. Pidge was so pale that her own ink was much unlike the other twos. It attracted attention. Just like everything else about her.

Lance took pride in knowing that he'd introduced them to Voltron. Sometimes they'd all rewatch the show, blankets and popcorn and lots of memorized lines.

“I think you're just upset that for once I'm closer with Pidge than you are.” He teased, but it held no real potency. None of his jests towards Matt ever did.

“That, or I'm too tired to argue with you anymore about robotic lions.” Matt shoved Lance's arm away from him, covering the tattoo with his palm to avoid looking at it. The Cuban let out a snort of laughter. Conversation rolled to a stop, and the silence that followed was comfortable.

He watched as Matt picked up his sewing needle again, and began to piece together the two separate edges of fabric. They sat there, neither one speaking, and just let the seconds tick by, the world moving only beyond the door.

And as his eyes followed the every growing trail of tightly woven thread, Lance wondered what awaited them all at the festival. The thought made his chest tighten again, for what must be the thousandth time since Hunk suggested they go together.

Whatever it was, Lance knew he had to find out. But until the actual day came, all he could do was fall into line like one of Matt’s stitches.


	2. Kitchen Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro remembered her brothers and sisters. They were all crying, but something about their sorrow was sweet. Amelia was still loved, even though she was gone. Shiro remembered the way they had all hugged him, as if they had known him for years. They told him they were happy he had come, and happier yet that he was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is....so much angst. i apologize

“Hand me that- yes, thank you.” Allura said, hands suddenly full with a misshapen plastic bag, bottles and packets of seemingly endless glitter bulging against the thin pack.

She rolled it up as best as she could, then promptly stuffed it into yet another backpack. By now she had filled four. To be fair, they weren't all for her. She was almost shocked with how much her boyfriend was bringing, but she realized she shouldn't be when she remembered just who she was dating.

Allura looked up at him then. He was distracted by something out of her sight. She was on their kitchen floor, kneeling over their Burning Man luggage. And Shiro was standing at their table, no doubt fiddling nervously with something. He cast a glance at her, then did a double take when he noticed her own eyes.

He let out a sigh.

“Why are we doing this again?” Shiro asked softly.

“Because we’re adults who have almost no social life. All we do is work. We need to have some fun, damn it. I mean, your hair is white! That's a visual representation of how stressed you are!” Her tone was gentle, but stern. Her worry for him was increasing.

Shiro self consciously ran a hand through the white forelock that just brushed his eyebrows. His eyes were like dark pools, and at the moment they were gazing right through her.

“My love…” She whispered. He slowly came back to her, finally seeing what was right in front of him, not in the past. His mouth opened for a moment then closed, and he hung his head. Allura stood, reaching for him. He leaned into her touch as she ran a hand over his cheek, the other cupping his jaw.

“You're not there. You have to remember that you're not there.” She soothed, fingers tracing the high arch of his cheekbones.

“I know. I’m here, with you, in our kitchen. But sometimes I can't help but feel like I shouldn't be.” Shiro’s voice cracked, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Visibly, he shivered. Allura’s heart clenched like it always did when he got like this.

“Don't say that. Not to me.” And then he let out a half concealed sob, and his shoulders slumped forward. She kneeled in front of him, giving him something to hold onto.

His hands tangled in her thick white hair and he pulled himself close to her as he tried to get a grasp of his surroundings.

“You're not there. Stay with me.” Allura pleaded, though her voice never raised above a whisper. They stayed like that for several long minutes. When Shiro’s breathing had calmed down his grip in her hair loosened. Instead his fingers ran delicately through the locks.

Eventually he opened his eyes again, and she could see they were watery with unshed tears. Allura lifted his head slightly and pressed a featherlight kiss to his lips.

He sighed through his nose, and then hesitantly kissed her again, this time with more urgency.

Shiro’s hands found her cheeks and he cradled her face for a moment. Then he murmured, “Thank you. For everything.”

“It’s my pleasure. I need you to know I’m always here, darling. You’re not alone in this. You have me, and Keith, and your parents.” Her hands trailed down his jaw until they rested around his neck, hanging loosely. The position brought their faces even nearer, foreheads now resting against each other.

@ ((<\-- that means the POV switches cause im a shITTY writer))

Shiro grit his teeth, jaw clenching as he fought the images swimming through his head. His eyes screwed shut once more and his breath hitched as his hands tightened in her hair.

“I can-I can see her still. I can see her face as they pulled her out and the blood, Jesus, Allura, the blood. Why was there so much? Why was it her?” He was barely speaking, words tumbling out in a hushed tone. Like all his energy was being used on stopping himself from slipping away.

He knew where he was. He knew Allura was there, his girlfriend (who he had secretly bought a ring for) and that his little brother Keith was in their backyard adding the finishing touches to their Playa bikes. He knew he wasn't in a burning car, with his arm pinned under the smashed passenger side. He knew he wasn't screaming for them to save her instead, save the girl, please. He had begged.

He had seen her through his windshield. The glass was broken and gone, and he could see her through the smoke. She was slumped forward in her seat, and her brown hair had matted together on her forehead where most of the blood was from. Shiro remembered watching it drip. Some ran down the edge of her jaw, and fell from the delicate edge of her chin, some rolled along the bridge of her nose and onto her parted lips.

Lips that took no breath.

Yet still he pleaded with them to save her. They looked at him with eyes lit by fire. They didn't seem to hear him. Or they did, and they were trying to reassure him everything was going to be okay, even if it was a lie. Maybe he was the one who didn't hear them.

And then he had woken up in a hospital without his right arm. The nightmares haunted him, along with the memories, and the images that would cloud his vision.

And then he had tried to kill himself. It had all been too much, the feeling of being alive while she was dead. But then he had woken up in a hospital again, and the doctors sent him to a therapist. Not long after that he met Allura, and he realized life was worth something.

He later attended the girl's funeral. Her mother had come and asked him to. She’d said that his life was something valuable, and that even though she had lost her daughter, the world was better off with than without him. The girl was named Amelia. Amelia McClain. She had a large family.

Shiro remembered her brothers and sisters. They were all crying, but something about their sorrow was sweet. Amelia was still loved, even though she was gone. Shiro remembered the way they had all hugged him, as if they had known him for years. They told him they were happy he had come, and happier yet that he was alive.

One even apologized. He said he was sorry Shiro had lost his arm. He was sorry Amelia decided she was sober enough to drive. He was sorry that Shiro felt the guilt that no doubt plagued him. Because it wasn't his guilt to carry.

Although the family never got into contact with him after that, except the occasional FaceBook comment or programmed birthday wishes (which he returned), Shiro couldn't help but feel like he was missing something in his life since the funeral. He missed their kind smiles and gentle, if not watery, blue eyes and their charming personalities that brightened the day up so easily he almost forgot why the darkness loomed.

Almost.

That was all four years ago.

Therapy ended up helping a bit. He got a prosthetic. He and Allura moved in together. Shiro had moved on. But sometimes, on days like these, where the clouds were dark and swollen with rain and the wet streets shone in the lamplight, he was taken back to the accident.

Which is why Allura never left him at times like that. She just held him tighter and let him breathe through the attacks. There wasn't much either of them could do to prevent them.

“I’m here baby. I’m here…” She hummed, rubbing his back as he shook silently in her arms.

-@-@- ((<\-- time skip/POV change))

That’s how Keith found them. His hair was damp from having to run from the garage to the backdoor, and he was slightly breathless, but the ghost of a smile was across his lips.

But when he saw Shiro’s red rimmed eyes and the way his good hand was still shaking he stopped short, hovering in the hallway. His older brother met his gaze, eyes tired. Allura shuffled around by the sink, tea kettle whistling loudly in the otherwise silent room.

Shiro’s voice was flat when he spoke, “Hey...are the bikes done?”

Keith shrugged his shoulders. Suddenly all the work he’d just done didn't matter in the slightest. He crossed the kitchen until he slammed into his older brother, arms pulling him in tightly.

Shiro didn't even hesitate to fall into the embrace. He held Keith close with an arm around the waist and exhaled softly. The air ruffled the top of his little brother’s hair, and it tickled his lower lip.

Shiro’s prosthetic hung limply at his side. He’d never found a good way to use it during hugs. The younger Brogane ended their hug, scowling. His eyes appeared more purple than they normally did in the dim lighting of the kitchen and he blinked away the tears that threatened to spill.

The two brothers locked gazes for a moment, and then Keith relaxed, slumping forward to rest his head on Shiro’s chest.

“Yeah...the bikes are done.” He said quietly. Shiro hummed in acknowledgment and ran his left hand up and down the other boy's back.

“I can't wait to see what you did to them. They’re going to look great.”

Keith scoffed, “They already do!” Then he pulled away to look at his brother. He looked only a little worried, eyebrows creasing as he couldn't help but fret over the constant attacks Shiro had.

But Shiro simply moved his hand to Keith’s shoulder and gave him a soft squeeze.

“Of course…” He still looked too tired, and in his exhaustion he appeared far too old, but this wasn't new. Four years had trained the trio for these hardships, and four years had made them easier to move past.

“Tea is ready. And lunch is soon enough, so I decided to just make some food while I was it.” Allura called from her place behind the counter. Neither brother could see her from behind the cupboards, but they were both grateful she was there, and it wasn't just the two of them.

Allura had a sense of safety around her at all times. She fit into their messy lives so easily it was like she was meant to be there.

Keith didn't dismiss that thought lightly either. He knew Shiro had a ring. He knew the couple had been through thick and thin and yet somehow they were in a constant honeymoon phase. Keith, who didn't believe in soulmates, believed these two were made for each other. True love, or some cheesy shit like that.

As Shiro left Keith’s side to help Allura out in the kitchen, the younger brother watched them, while an out of place loneliness settled in his gut.

He’d never…had that. Somebody to love him as much as he loved them. Not that he needed it, or necessarily wanted it. He had his brother, and friends, and a boyfriend wasn't a high priority on his list.

But watching the couple make lunch with small smiles on their lips, eyes content and warm just by looking at the other, he wondered what it would be like to have somebody.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts, and crossed the invisible line he’d put down, leaving those emotions behind for the moment.

Allura’s eyes welcomed him from behind the counter, and he was offered a plate with two sandwiches prepared on it. When he grabbed it, his hand brushed hers, and the smile it earned him was enough to make him forget just how lonely he got every night.

He had his family right here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance wasnt even in this chapter! im sorry again lol


	3. Small Latte Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot and fast and everywhere. Messy and loud and intoxicating. Names on lips. Hands on hips. Fingers in hair. Bodies intertwined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)) gets a lil steamy

The heat was the first thing Lance noticed. And then, it was the dust. It clung to every inch of his skin, caking him where he was already damp with sweat. He had shed his shirt along the drive into camp and was already powdered in Playa.

Hunk was fussing over his cooking set, tenderly unpacking all of his pieces. Matt looked...weird. He still had his glasses, but they weren't glinting with a computer screen or being pushed up the bridge of his nose.

Lance was taken aback at how normal he appeared. Well, Burning Man normal. He was wearing smoke gray gloves that only looped around his thumbs, extending past the elbow on both arms, and his purple shirt was just long enough to cover his chest. His torso and legs were encased in a tight black body suit that had its upper half removed, finally topping off the look with bulky black snow boots. ((his outfit was lowkey inspired by his galra prison clothes dont hate me))

For a moment, Lance’s mouth watered over his friend. He was pulling off whatever that outfit was perfectly, and then Lance remembered Matt had made it, so of course he could pull it off. Matt's eyes met his, and he gave him a wide smile.

“Welcome, young mortal, to Burning Man. I do hope you enjoy the ride.”

“Tezz," As Lance had learned to call him, "Don't scare him away on the first day!” Hunk called from the other side of their car. The Holt boy simply laughed, really laughed, and looked around with bright eyes. He seemed to fit right in, like he was meant to be in the middle of a desert. Lance had never expected to see him so at peace while being away from his computer and wires and endless screens of code.

Something clicked into place then inside the young Cuban’s head. Matt was a genius. Always had been, always would be. But when you're that extreme in the world of technology, you have to find safe outlets. So maybe, just maybe, Matt's was being an extreme nature nerd too. It made sense. Pidge was almost as invested in robots and stuff as her brother, heck, maybe even more sometimes. But the two were also naturals when outside. Lance had convinced them to go camping once, and when expecting chaos, he was met with pure and genuine delight.

Opposites attract, and that's what he guessed had happened when the Holt siblings’ likes and dislikes were chosen.

Lance moved to help Hunk unpack, but his eyes lingered a dangerous moment longer on the thin cinch of Matt’s waist, the broad build of his shoulders, arm muscles firm under thin fabric, the exposed neck that led to deep angular collarbones, milky skin blemish free and ready to bite-

“Fuck,” He breathed, inhaling a quick breath. Viciously he shook his head of the incredibly gay thoughts and set to work on unloading the car.

-@-@-

The tent, once standing, was large enough to hold at least thirty people. It had been painted in a lot of yellow and orange hues, soft spirals flowing together along the white flaps.

Hunk was wearing a normal every day outfit. He had decided to stay simply dressed since he’d be in the tent’s kitchen most of the trip, and didn't want to risk any fire hazards by wearing unorthodox clothing. He and his few volunteer staff had already cranked out quite a bit of food that they would serve the next day, the official first day of Burning Man. That's when most of the people would arrive.

Lance had been watching his friend cook for the past hour or so and was quickly beginning to grow bored.

Matt had disappeared off somewhere, probably to go and look for proof of aliens. The Cuban couldn't blame him for escaping while he could.

He stood, sighing, and stretched his arms high over his head. The movement would have normally pulled his shirt up and revealed his hipbones, but those were already exposed.

Lance was currently sporting a tight white crop top that fit close against his chest. It stopped just under his pecs and clung to his broad shoulders. His flat stomach was uncovered and contrasted nicely with the light colors he was wearing. He had lacey white fishnets that came up to his waist, and the only thing covering his ass was a item of clothing he wasn't even sure he could call shorts. It was impossibly small on him, and didn't leave much to the imagination.

Needless to say, Lance had had fun getting changed. He’d also thrown on some cobalt blue converse with a wide array of bracelets, necklaces, and a few small rings.

Most of his outfits were like the one he currently had on; form fitting and form showing. It was as if every article of clothing was the kids’ version, and God was Lance ready to show some skin.

He strolled out of the tent and into the sunlight, letting the heat soak into his tan skin and stay there, pleasantly warm. For a moment he didn't move, instead closing his eyes and tilting his face upwards. The camp was relatively quiet. The only sounds he heard were muffled noises in the kitchen and a few quiet voices so far out of earshot all he could make out were the tones.

It all felt like he was underwater. He loved it.

“Lance!” A familiar voice called. His head snapped towards the sound and instantly he broke into a wide smile.

“There you are, I was wondering where you wandered off to.”

“Just had to finish setting up my tent. I want to get all cozy before the main groups of people roll in,” Matt said.

“Understandable. Need any help?”

“Not really, but you can always come and keep me company.” The older boy shrugged nonchalantly. His hair brushed his shoulders as he did so.

“Oh baby,” Lance winked as a comfortable smirk settled on his lips, “I can do more than that.”

Matt rolled his eyes but a soft blush dusted his cheeks and nose, so Lance took a moment to feel prideful.

The two men walked for a moment without speaking. Dust squeaked under Lance’s shoes, like how cornstarch felt between your fingers. It was an odd thought. Once they reached Matt’s tent, the Holt unzipped the flap and stepped aside for Lance to pass through.

They both filled the area nicely, leaving enough room for comfortable movement but nothing too spacious or cramped.

Lance surveyed Matt’s place for a long moment. He smiled a bit when he saw just how many things the other guy had managed to fit into the tent that normally would have been out of place inside it. There were pictures and small tokens. Memories flooded through Lance as he looked at them, and a certain picture caught his eye.

It was the two of them, with bloodshot eyes and burning joints between their fingers. High or not, it was the first time they had really hung out without anybody else. They had met through Pidge and being free of a mutual friend had been oddly relieving. Lance wasn’t one for weed, but Matt always had good hook ups and good vibes, so the Cuban had felt safe smoking with the other boy.

The picture had been shot by Matt’s phone and it had been the first of many. The others came out with increasing levels of blurriness. The subjects also slowly became more interested in the other and less in the drugs they carried in their hands.

Lance remembered it well. The taste of weed on his tongue, rich and heavy. The smoke he inhaled had been warm and smooth as he inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. He’d stopped focusing on the camera, and let his blue eyes turn to Matt. He shouldn’t have looked.

The honey color of the other’s hair had filled his vision and for a moment he was mesmerized. Then Matt’s amber eyes met his. They were half lidded and ever so slightly lazy, but brightened when they saw Lance staring.

It had been suddenly much too hot. Heat everywhere. Hands on fire, fingers buzzing with warmth, breath rolling down his throat in humid waves. He’d licked his lips and realized that his face was ablaze. Matt smirked, leaning closer as their eyes stayed locked together.

He wasn’t sure he could look away. Drawn in. The swirling tawny orbs held him tight, but he didn’t want it any other way. Wanted to stay in this moment. Stay here.

Fire licked at his stomach, burned it’s way into his ribs, his lungs. Flames in his eyes. Matt’s eyes were embers.

In the distance Lance could hear the alarms. Knew he should pull away, pull himself out of the inferno he was getting himself into. Fresh air, he needed fresh air. But the smoke was so thick and it’s all he could smell. It held him in place. He ignored the flashing lights, the blaring sirens. He ignored the urge to run away from the boy with syrup colored eyes. He wanted to wade into them. Slow and sluggish and impossibly sweet.

When their lips met neither one broke away until the fire had roared its way through both of their chests and they couldn’t breathe.

A simple kiss had started a dance. The dance went on for years. They had just been dumb kids, seventeen and high, yet they couldn’t turn off the music. Captivated by a beat they hadn’t felt before. Hot and fast and everywhere. Messy and loud and intoxicating.

Names on lips. Hands on hips. Fingers in hair. Bodies intertwined.

When Lance had lost his sister their secret dance had reached a new level. It was their way of relieving stress. Stupid kids. Scared. Alone, except when they were together. Nobody could know of course. Hidden. Lies. Locked doors and muffled voices and covered marks.

Feelings had never been a problem. Both understood what their game was. Friends with benefits. It had never strayed into anything more. There were no accidental steps into dangerous waters because Lance wouldn’t let himself love after Amelia and Matt wasn’t going to be that guy. The one who trapped his best friend in something just because he wanted lips to kiss and long legs wrapped around his hips and “Matt, yes, faster, please,” whispered in his ear whenever he wanted.

So they both allowed the dance to continue. Stupid kids. Tired. Never alone, except when they had each other.

Their interactions started to happen less. Instead of sex they would talk. About everything wrong with everything. And eventually talking turned into silence. Crying came next.

They were just kids. They didn't know how to grow up. They didn't know how to adult or pay taxes or make rent or buy enough groceries. They were just kids in love with the feeling of having another.

So then their dance had ended long after it had started. Now the locked door was because they needed to be held by someone, and the lies were because they didn't want anybody to know they had been crying, and the muffled voices were soothing words at 3AM because Lance couldn't stop seeing her face in the casket, and the covered marks were unhappy ones born from sorrow not passion.

Matt had been there when Lance needed to forget his sadness. Matt had been there when Lance needed an outlet that just so happened to be casual sex. Never careless though. They both always cared.

And now, after all these years, Matt would continue to be there for Lance. The younger boy didn't want to feel nothing anymore. He wanted the pain to be gone. He wanted his outlet to stop being a razor and to start being hugs from Pidge and fist bumps with Matt and cheek kisses with Hunk.

Friends with benefits, but in a different sense. Now lips were quivering. Long legs pulled tightly to his chest as he talked in that monotone voice Lance got whenever he was thinking about Amelia. The only words whispered in his ears now where, “I'm broken Matt. Fix me.”

It was then they realized they loved one another. Platonically now, of course. But still love. Lance smiled at the picture.

One hell of a story behind it.

“The blow up mattress is probably big enough for both of us if you want.” Matt's voice came from behind him.

“Cuddles?” The Cuban spun around. His ocean eyes were wide with excitement.

“Dude, anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied. kinda. like i said before idk what im really doing with this, i mean i wrote all of this late last night after a random stroke of motivation. but thats the story behind matt/lance and a bit more insight on how lance is dealing with amelia...


	4. Hello There Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He highly doubted he'd be surprised of anything he found in the other man's pants.
> 
> Unless, of course, it was herpes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do hope you enjoy this chapter. i wrote the entire thing late last night after a random burst of motivation

“Allura, baby, sweetheart, light of my life, princess, can we please stop riding and get some goddamn food.” It wasn't even a question. He was begging at this point.

Both Shiro and Keith were famished, and their legs were tired and sore. Yet somehow, against all odds, Allura was pedaling away like she'd been born on a bike. She looked over her shoulder. Eyes bright with excitement, perfect white teeth flashing a brilliant smile, hair streaming behind her in waves, “Can't keep up?”

Shiro suddenly remembered why he'd been able to go this long. With a fresh burst of energy he sped forward until he was beside her. Keith made a grunt of disapproval but was focusing more on keeping his legs moving.

The elder brother looked over at his girlfriend. He flashed her a smile, and she returned it. But then his leg started cramping and his face took on a look of horror as he lost all ability to turn one of his pedals. He swerved dramatically to avoid running into a tent, or worse an art piece, instead flipping onto his side on the hard, packed, sand/dust/dirt ground.

It was in his eyes. He was blind. This was the end. He'd never see Allura’s face again. Keith was forever going to be ingrained into his memory as a mullet haired boy. Oh God, why him.

He heard laughter. Tired and breathy, but still there. He wiped at his face with both hands and tried squinting his eyes open. It was bleary, but he could make out shapes and colors. He wasn't blind. He was going to live after all. God was good. He should dedicate his life to the Bible and become a monk.

Gentle hands on his shoulders hoisted him up and he opened his eyes fully this time. Keith stood in front of him. He had a small smile splitting his face.

“Woah, wipeout!” His younger brother exclaimed. His baby bro, quoting a movie about the best of bros. ((surfs up is the only movie that matters yall can fight me))

“Oh stop, it wasn't that bad.” Allura. She came into view, two bikes trailing behind her. She was still smiling. They all were. It was hot, and they were hungry. Shiro was covered in dust. He had a bruised shin. He wasn't blind. And they were smiling.

“I think I hit my head,” He admitted. The only explanation for why his train of thought was so messed up at the moment. Allura cooed, and as Keith's hands left his shoulders, her’s found his face. She stroked his cheek and checked his forehead.

“Poor baby. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see how long you both could go.” Wicked. She was evil. Her smile was pure sin. It was doing things to Shiro’s heart.

“Yeah yeah, you're the superior biker. We get it. Can we please eat now? That place right there says food. I'm doing it.” Keith was already walking in the direction of a camp, bike being wheeled alongside him. The tent was bright yellow and had a hand painted sign reading 'Space Goo' above its open and inviting flaps. Tent doors?

“That...has a long line. Like a really long line. Is that ok with you, babe?” Shiro looked down at his girlfriend. Her eyes were bright blue and worried.

“It's not the crowds that get me Allura, it's the noises that sometimes accompany them. I'll be fine. Let's go join Keith.”

As they all waiting in the admittedly long line Shiro’s head cleared up a bit and the adrenaline from his fall stopped pumping through his body. The dull throb of a scrape could be felt on his palm, and he had to brush off the dust enough to see if he was bleeding. He wasn't.

At least the line was moving quickly. And once they actually stepped through the threshold into the tent Shiro silently thanked his brother for picking this place. It smelled like heaven.

It smelled like honeyed salmon and freshly baked cookies and that satisfying burning you get when grilling steaks and store bought lemonade. All together it really should have been extremely unpleasant but it was just mouthwatering and delectable. As they neared the side of the tent with the menus a honey haired boy walked up to them, notepad and in hand.

At that exact moment Shiro was painfully reminded of two things.

One, he was a raging bisexual.

And two, he was in a happy and healthy relationship with a woman he wanted to marry.

The man, not sensing his inner turmoil, offered him a wide grin. It caused the skin around his eyes to crinkle and that's when Shiro realized the color of his pupils. Amber. Rich and creamy like maple syrup. Ravishing.

Shaking his head quickly he listened as the waiter spoke, “Do you guys know what you'll be having today?”

He was probably gaping like a fish, but luckily Keith stepped in and said, “I'll take the Galra special, please.” Quickly jotting it down, the man's eyes fell on Allura and he had the decency to fucking wink.

“What about you, beautiful?” Normally Shiro would have been angry. But he just took in the way Allura blushed and decided he would let this waiter steal her away if he could just see her flattered face all day, every day.

“The, uh, A-Altean. With fries.” She stuttered. The man smiled cockily and wrote this down as well.

“And what are you gonna have, sir? If you want something as delicious as you ought to be, I'd suggest the Champion with double cheese and a side of the Caesar salad.” It took nearly thirty seconds for Shiro to be able to breathe. He really should be fuming right now. This- this- stranger was making moves on both he and his future fiancée. He shouldn't tolerate this. But he was rendered speechless because those eyes were captivating, along with the scarred cheek and shaggy hair that framed his face so perfectly. The outfit the waiter was wearing left little to the imagination Shiro highly doubted he'd be surprised of anything he found in the other man's pants.

Unless, of course, it was herpes.

“Sir?” It broke him out of his trance and he spluttered, “Please.”

Smooth Shiro. Real smooth. That's the way to do it.

“Alrighty then! Well, your orders will be ready in around ten to fifteen minutes. What name can I put down for the meals?”

“Space Dad.” Bless his little brother. Curse his Playa name, but bless him wholeheartedly, because Shiro still couldn't speak.

“Awesome. I'm Tezzie. You can come to me if you have any problems regarding the food, because trust me, you do not want to anger the chef. See ya!” And then, just as quickly as he had came, he was gone.

Tezzie. Rolling the name over his tongue, Shiro hummed. Allura beside him was just as shaken apparently because she hummed in response. ((for anyone confused thats matts playa name))

“Oh my God you guys, just ask him for some nice two on one action and leave me out of it,” Keith groaned. He was genuinely disgusted. Frowning, eyes narrowed, arms crossed.

No, wait, that's just normal Keith. He was probably amused. Planning their threeway wedding. Naming his nieces and nephews. Or he was planning the murder of the man who broke his brother’s heart. For Keith, there was no in between.

“I-” Shiro began.

“Want to ask him out on a date. With you. Me too. All three. Us,” Allura finished for him. Keith rolled his eyes and walked over to a water table to get them their drinks.

“You'd be down for that?” The older brother asked, shocked but also genuinely relieved.

“Normally, no. But with him? I think I'd be down to rob a bank if I had you both with me.” Her eyes were focused on something neither of them could see.

“Somehow I just fell more in love with you and I can't tell if I want to kiss you or start crying right now.”

“I fully support the kiss.”

So he pulled her in with his good arm and sealed the deal with a clash of lips. A second later they pulled away and she started to giggle. He followed soon after and then quickly sighed a large breath of relief.

“He's intoxicating. You felt that, right?” He asked.

“I wasn't sure if I was experiencing a heart attack or love at first sight.” Allura confessed. Shiro smiled, kissing her again.

“We are so asking him out later.” And that's how that went. They had both talked about this sort of thing before. They didn't want a third person just for their sex life, but their love life too. But it hadn't been a strong desire for either of them, and they had been content with just one another.

Tezzie, like always, was a random miracle. Their unicorn. Bless his heart.

As the trio settled down in some seats they found just outside the tent, enclosed in a small gated area, Shiro sipped his water. The heat and dust was leaving his throat constantly dry.

Underneath the table he and Allura held hands. Keith's foot rested against his. This was family.

He looked up from their small group to scan the other tables, the people standing, those just ordering. He wanted to catch sight of Tezzie, but instead locked eyes with someone he hadn't expected to see again.

Warm brown skin. Teeth pearly white but also crooked in a way that made you feel easily at home. Miles upon miles of lanky arms and legs, a torso made for a swimmer, a dancer. Ocean blue eyes. This boy held the sea around his pupils and he knew it, cause whenever he smiled the waves crashed and he pulled you into the those crests, held you in the depths until you were sure you'd drown, then released you just in time to catch a breath and sink down again.

Lance McClain. He stood so fast his water rocked off the table and spilt on the ground. Instantly Allura was grabbing his arm, speaking something. Keith was also talking but he couldn't hear them.

He was staring at the boy who held his sister's features so perfectly in his face Shiro thought he was seeing a ghost for a second.

This was why he hadn't visited. Why he ignored the birthday and get-togethers invites he always received on his Facebook. Why he kept telling himself they didn't want to see him. They did. They never stopped asking.

That face brought back the memories he worked so hard to fight. But it also soothed his screaming thoughts and held him tightly as it chased away the nightmares.

He couldn't help but see her in Lance. He was a coward. He was brave. He wanted to run away from here and escape those blue eyes. He wanted to sweep Lance into his arms and never let him go.

He wanted to be told to go away. He wanted to be craved.

The Cuban looked just as shocked as Shiro felt. Then he was laughing, still in surprise, but he was wide eyed with joy. He crossed the distance between them and trapped Shiro in a tight embrace.

Coward or brave. Run or stay.

In the end he chose to plant his feet firmly on the ground and hug Lance with both his arms. His prosthetic felt stiff and awkward on the other’s back but he ignored it, squeezing with as much force as he'd allow.

“I'm sorry I never answered the messages. I couldn't- I see her face in you all. I didn't want to deal with it and I'm so sorry, I'm-” He tried to explain, tried to get it all out.

“Shiro. It's fine.” Lance pulled away. Looked him in the eyes. Smiled.

“We figured you'd probably need time. We needed time too. We only kept reaching out because we wanted you to know you weren't alone. You still aren't. And...I know seeing us can't be easy, but I hope you can give it a shot?”

“I...I can do that. I've been going to therapy and the nightmares are less. I don't get my episodes as often as I used to. I just never knew if I'd be ready enough,” He trailed off.

“That's good to hear. We are all still worried about you, I hope you know that. Mamá occasionally talks about you, yknow. Calls you her son even.” Lance's voice was so quiet and calm. So gentle.

“Really? She was so sweet while I was there, I should see her again. See you all again.”

“Everyone would love that. Brother through hardships, that's what we call you. And son through grief. It's not exactly the happiest term, but it's true. We lost her, but we chose not to lose you Shiro.” Then they were hugging again. Lance’s doing. When they broke apart both men were smiling.

“I've missed you buddy. Now introduce me to our lovely audience,” The Cuban said.

Keith was staring, quite nonchalantly, at Lance. Allura had tears in her eyes and was watching with a knowing glint in her eyes. She reached out for Shiro’s hand. He took it, squeezing it fondly.

“This,” He gestured to Allura, “Is the woman I've told you all about. Space Mom, meet-” Shiro looked to the other man for confirmation. "Baby Blue, but I just go by the latter." The two shook hands briefly.

“Shiro is called Space Dad in camp, just a heads up. It's so good to finally meet you. I've heard stories.” She teased and the boy groaned, beaming all the while. Then he turned to Shiro's younger brother.

“You must be-" Lance started. Keith blinked, eyes blank, before realizing what he had been asked and blurting, "Stabs. They call me Stabs." Blue chuckled, "Space D brought you up quite a few times at the funeral. I can see that the attractiveness runs in the family.” He was blatantly flirting, hand extended to shake.

Mouth opening and closing, Keith blinked several times and scratched the back of his neck before stiffly grabbing Lance’s hand. Neither one made a move to actually shake, mind you. They just stared for a moment at one another. Keith, the poor gay deprived boy, was blushing furiously and still couldn't form sentences. Lance was smirking, but a fine rosy dust was covering his cheeks.

Shiro took note of both their outfits. His brother was wearing more than necessary, but it was somehow more revealing than Lance, who was wearing a blue sports bra sized crop top and daisy dukes. Keith was in a full body caged suit. It clung tightly to his skin, the black contrasting nicely with his pale complexion. Against his thighs and arms, as if he had been attacked by scissors, there were long slits in the fabric. His stomach was covered in circles. He’d also, as a sidenote, used some of Allura’s (now his) makeup to apply red glitter to every sharp angle he could find.

Collarbones. Hips. Cheekbones. The curve of his jaw. Allura has helped him blend it in seamlessly.

"You're-” Keith finally managed before he was abruptly cut off by-

“Space Daddy! Your order is ready, with a side of can I please get your numb- Tezzie, I swear to God! Stop hitting on all the guys!” Blasting through the speakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KLANCE FINALLY MEETS. LANCE, LIKE ALWAYS, IS A SNACK. KEITH IS A GODDAMN FULL COURSE MEAL AMKZKXKAKS


	5. The Broganes are Nerds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is lactose intolerant. Keith is also gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this has taken so long. happy new year! merry christmas! happy holidays!

They'd all ignored the broadcast for a moment, still stunned at what Hunk had had to announce over the speaker. It gave Keith a chance to reclaim his hand. It was cold where Lance’s skin had touched his.

Recovering through his giggles, Lance had invited all three of them to visit his camp later that night, when ‘Space Goo’ was closed and the real fun began.

Shiro, being the responsible older brother, had asked if that meant drugs. The Cuban smiled, teeth flashing white and crooked against his rich skin, before saying, “If you're scared of a little weed I don't think you should even be at Burning Man, my dude. But other than that, no, nothing too serious.” And then he'd winked at Stabs ((im now incorporating their names into it)). Ocean blue eyes drenching him, dragging him along the seafloor, throwing him against the surface in a violent crash of waves.

Obliterating Keith's ability to think even remotely straight. Wanted him pinned against a wall. Bent over a table. Sprawled out on a bed. Kneeling on the floor. It was infuriating.

So he'd marched off and gotten their food. Began to chew on his bottom lip, until he imagined the attention-Lance’s attention- that it might attract and he stopped. Was conflicted on whether he wanted to start screaming or crying. Everything was so pent up suddenly and he felt like he was about to burst over that goddamn idiot Blue.

So when he slammed the tray down on the table Allura let out a small yelp. Shiro stopped speaking mid sentence. Dark eyes that flashed like cold steel drilled into him. Keith refused to be embarrassed. He scowled.

So there he was, angrily eating his burger. Angrily sipping his milkshake. Angrily soaking up every word that left Lance’s mouth because, fuck, what he wouldn't do to have that voice say his name.

His real name.

Wanted it whispered, moaned, breathy in his ears, cracking as he hit. that. spot.

“-abs?”

He snapped out of his trance, eyes suddenly so very wise and cheeks a deep shade of red. Allura was quirking a suggestive eyebrow his direction, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” He spluttered.

“I was asking why you were drinking a milkshake, Stabs,” She teased. He knew it was more than that. Knew he’d practically been deep throating his straw as he glared at Lance, like he’d witnessed the young man murder his family's’ cow.

Knew he’d been sporting a half hard-on in his pants, too, but Allura didn’t need to know that much.

“I drink to forget but I always remember.”

“Yeah, well, lactose intolerance will do that to you.”

In response to this Keith angrily slurped down the last of his drink. Finishing it off with a melodramatic ‘ah’, he looked over Allura’s shoulder to catch Lance’s eyes on him. He was smiling, and gesturing wildly.

Shiro was obviously still talking to him but the Cuban’s attention was directed elsewhere.  
He saw that Keith was looking and had the audacity to wink, lips curling into a smug smirk. Keith, momentarily forgetting how to breathe, did his best to just shoot daggers back.

Absolutely /refused/ to let himself get anymore flustered because he abruptly stood and threw away his now empty plate.

He didn’t know what to do now. Ride back to camp? Stick around and risk Shiro catching him sucking face Blue? Subject himself to Allura’s endless teasing?

He simply stood and watched for a long moment. Blue had started talking with Space Mom, face bright and animated, hands flying. Because of his staring he failed to notice Shiro come up beside him with his own trash from lunch.

“You alright?” He left the question draped in the air. Weighted enough to demand an answer, but so light Keith could say whatever he wanted.

“Something about Blue throws me off. I feel like I’ve seen him before. Maybe around the Playa? His face just seems familiar.”

He looked to his older brother, expecting a cheesy grin and a knowing raised eyebrow. Instead, Space Dad was peering curiously at Lance.

“Well he is about your age. Maybe you went to school together? It’s a small world, dude.”  
A moment of silence. Shiro’s real hand lifted, and rested on Keith’s shoulder.

“Are you ok with going to one of his camp parties?” The concern was a small bubble under a wave of comfort.

Keith shrugged, but nodded his head. He /forced/ his eyes to leave the long expanse of Blue’s torso. The thin waist, flat and slightly defined stomach. It left Stab’s mouth parched, throat begging for water. Or maybe that was the milkshake.

Shit. /The milkshake/.

“As long as I find a bathroom before then,” He suddenly gushed out, head whipping around in a small panic. Shiro, always the worried sibling, instantly threw himself into the search. He spotted a porta-potty line at the edge of ‘Space Goo’s’ and pointed with two prosthetic fingers.

“Target spotted.”

Instantly, the two made fake guns with their hands and squatted down slightly. They looked around with all-seeing eyes, shoulders wide but slunched to appear smaller. They placed their feet slowly and delicately to make little noise. They wormed their ways through tables of confused members, made unnecessary stops to jump and somersault roll into a standing position again, kept putting their hand to their ear to hear an imaginary order over an imaginary com.

Keith couldn’t help but smile throughout the whole thing, despite their faux seriousness. This was what he and Shiro would do as kids. Especially when Shiro thought he was going to be a soldier.

But then- the accident happened.

Keith viciously shook that thought away.

They reached their goal, and Shiro did one last over dramatic sweep of the area before nodding to his little brother.

He cracked a wide smile. Stabs offered a smaller one back. And then he wobbled inside to promptly throw his guts up.

Fuck lactose intolerance.

@

Shiro was a good friend, a great brother, and a fan-fucking-tastic Space Dad. He mentally clapped himself on the back for that stunning performance and execution of removing Keith from a possibly devastating social situation before the real trouble hit.

Man, Shiro was so cool.

He kinda felt like high-fiving Keith. Kinda felt like a fist-bump was in order. But mostly, he just wanted to dab. Embarrass Stabs in front of as many people as possible.

That’s what being a sibling was all about anyways. His inner monologue going unheard, the people around him were starting to glance nervously his way as he just...nodded. He was literally just nodding along after he had just done whatever the fuck that Mission Impossible thing was and honestly people were a bit concerned.

Especially because they could hear Keith violently throwing up in the porta-potty closest to him.  
But then Keith finally re-emerged and he gave Shiro a slightly queasy thumbs-up before stumbling off, and they came to the assumption the shorter man was probably shitfaced. Or high as balls. Or both?

So they went back to their food, and Space Dad rode out another successful mission.

When the two brothers made their way back to Allura and Baby Blue they found that the latter had left. Allura said something about him being called back into the kitchen with Hunk (who was now known as Slam Dunk) to help with dishes. That’s also when they found out about ‘Space Goo’ closing until the next morning. Normally it’d be open for dinner, but the camp owners were having a party that night.

A party the three of them had so graciously been invited to. Keith was still a little out of it, but with a few hours of downtime Shiro had no doubts he’d be better. So they all gathered up their things and got their bikes ready. The ride back, now that they had eaten, was better.

Also Space Mom wasn’t trying to kill them both.  
Their “camp” was definitely less flamboyant than Lance and Hunk’s. It just had their two sleeping tents, along with Shiro and Allura’s car. Which was now incredibly sandy. They had a fair amount of neighbors but all of them so far had seemed nice enough.

@

It was moments like this where Keith wished he’d been able to bring Red. But that would have involved a lot more packing, especially because she was a living animal, and a big one at that.

Plus the people at the gate might have turned them away anyways.

Still. The camp was quiet. Allura and his brother has disappeared to their tent and were napping. He still felt a bit sick but a ride with Red would’ve helped with that. She always helped calm him down, ever since he’d got her. It had been a few years after he’d been adopted by Shiro’s parents, a few years since he’d lost his own.

They had him in lessons already, since he’d practically begged to get back on a horse. It was his outlet. But now he was begging /for/ a horse. And, well, his parents loved him. Even if he wasn’t their blood. So they worked hard to find a way to make it work.

They couldn’t exactly keep the animal in their small three bedroom home, but they /could/ keep it at one of the boys’ Dad’s friend’s ranch. His name was Coran. And it was because of Keith’s undying love for horses that Shiro met Allura. It had been after the car crash. Keith was taking his brother to work with the therapy animals Coran had on the farm, because Shiro seemed to prefer furry living things over people some days. Animals couldn’t talk. Animals couldn’t tell him things he already knew.

But then Coran’s niece showed up and, well- we know what happens there. But back to /getting/ Red. It had been a long process. Originally the boys’ parents wanted to surprise Keith, but then they realized they didn’t know if he had a type of horse he wanted.

So they broke down and asked him. That’s one of the only times Shiro has seen his brother really cry. It was full body, tearful, but it was happy. He kept trying to say thank you and just ended up getting flustered again.

Finally, they picked out a normal bay. She was a mare, and had already had two foals, but Red was beautiful, full of life, and bursting with fiesty energy. She was experienced in riding both English and Western, but Keith only preferred the latter. At first Red didn’t like him much. Keith had to just sit there and softly talk to her for her to even acknowledge him. It wasn’t until he decided to try grooming her that she realized he was good.

He was gentle and soft with Red, not the cold, closed-off boy Keith tended to be around everyone else. He just tenderly brushed Red’d coat, and talked in a low voice about a lot of things. Mostly, he gushed about how pretty she was, how excited he was, how they were both the same age, etc.  
And then, when Red was all shiny and clean, he left. Everyday after school, he’d brush her and talk to her. Only after a month of that did he start to actually ride her.

So...yeah, Keith missed Red. He’d known her for half of his life. She was a constant.

He decided to lay down and close his eyes, rather than get too sad over missing his girl. His dreams were laced with her anyways, so the dull ache happily faded.

When he next woke the sky was dark. Stars were shining brightly, the moon was a wide smile. He sighed, stretched, and sat up to zip the top of his tent window closed. Just as he finished Allura’s face poked through his front flap, eyes crazy and hair wild.

“Ah- Jesus, Allu-”

“Wear as little clothes as possible Keithy-boy! We’re getting you some ass tonight!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont..know what this is? also i guess keith rides horses now. i blame it on my 1) love for Keith Kogane and 2) love for bowlegs, which i blame on Dean Winchester


End file.
